An Absurd Halloween
by lazer-angel
Summary: If ever there was a holiday to be despised, it was Halloween. Why? Because it had severely injured his hair. His hair. His beautiful, luxurious hair. And if there was anything worse, it was having it mocked in its time of much needed condolence.


A/N: First story in such a long time. Please don't kill me. It's been so long since I've written something, and no one's gotten into the spirit of Halloween, so I just decided to jot something down. Not Beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I can only wish I owned the rights.

xXx

**An Absurd Halloween**

"Trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat…"

Draco gritted his teeth. Parkinson was a dead man. No, he did not make a mistake; Parkinson was dead _man_. Ever since he had finally opened his eyes and saw Parkinson in a new light, he decided that Parkinson was in no way a girl. After all, it was a blasphemous thought to why anyone would ever want to get within a five-foot radius of that odious creature.

His train of thought was broken as the whiny jack-o-lantern began to insist that he smell its feet, and he shoved his fingers as far as they would go in his ears while he tried to think. Setting the damned thing on fire had only caused it to spew out a gush of water while singing at the same time and therefore caused an even more irritating gurgle of, "Grick-or-greet, shmell my feet, gimme shom-tink gook tuh eat…"

Another unfortunate attempt had been when he had tried to run out of his room. It had been an embarrassing situation, and he did not particularly feel like reliving it. In simple terms, it had scared the living shit out of him.

When had that idiot Parkinson learned how to trap a boggart into a pumpkin anyways?

He sat on his bed thoughtfully (or what attempted to be a thoughtful pose, though not succeeding very far because it is very difficult to be grimacing from the maddening sing-song voice and striving for a pensive look at the same time) and thought even harder than he had to do on Trelawny's exams (there was absolutely no correlation between the position of Saturn and his mood!).

_Splat_.

He stopped in mid-thought and slowly reached his fingers up to gingerly touch his hair. He recoiled and stared at the orange goop on the tips of his fingers.

Parkinson was beyond dead at this point.

The merry, bouncing jack-o-lantern was now hovering somewhere over his dresser, leaking its revolting insides all over his expensive Italian shoes. He narrowed his eyes at the _thing-creature_. That was it. You didn't mess with the shoes.

He leapt up, grabbed a book, threw it right at the stupid pumpkin and made a mad dash for the door. He felt his palm attach to the cold, metal doorknob and wrenched it open. He stepped out triumphantly and looked behind him. The pumpkin was headed straight towards him, already beginning to take form of his worst nightmare. With a satisfied grunt, he slammed the door shut just as the hideous pumpkin reached him.

_Crash. Splat._

He waited a few tense moments in silence before he backed away from the door in horror.

"T-trick-or-treeeeeeeat, smell m-my feeeeet—t-trick-or-treeeeeeeat, smell m-my feeeeeet…"

He dimly realized that the entire common room was staring at him, and he pointed at the door. "Don't go in there if you value your life."

He then proceeded to exit the common room, slamming the door behind him so hard that a thin crack appeared in the wall-illusion entrance to the Slytherin common rooms. All in all, it was definitely a daunting and graceful exit, if only he hadn't run into Granger at that moment. And quite literally, so.

After collecting himself, he opened his mouth to spew an angry retort, but the look on his despised fellow student's face stopped him.

"_What_?"

"…your hair. What happened to it?"

He silently swore. From the change of expression on Granger's face, it hadn't been as silent as he thought it had been.

Resolving to take the higher road, he sniffed and replied haughtily, "It is of absolutely no business to you why my beauteous hair is how it is." He paused and added, "Of course, some of my hair-care tips might actually improve that monstrosity atop your head."

She gave him an adoring smile. "From its current state, I'm quite sure that my monstrosity is better that atrocious blond mop that you have on top _your_ head."

He was at a loss for words. But not too long. "Granger, it is a well-known fact that Draco Malfoy does not have bad hair days. That would be an abomination. I _meant_ for it to look this way." At her amused look, he hastily continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to look for that pathetic excuse of a life, Parkinson, tear that idiot limb from limb, and feed it to the giant squid."

He quickly brushed off the dirt off of his shirt and began to walk away.

"Why?"

He stopped, gave a melodramatic sigh, and turned back to Granger.

"_Because,_ Granger, Parkinson is the most irritable, mentally unstable, ghastly, revolting, low-life creature to have ever walked the earth. Just after you, of course."

Her lips twitched and, to his horror, she gave him a broad grin, teeth and all, bordering on what would be (Merlin strike him dead if it ever happened) a smirk.

"And why, pray tell, would our gracious Malfoy ever want to hurt his poor little harlot?"

He was so taken back by the accusation that he would ever approach Parkinson with such a request that he almost missed her (nearly, but not quite) dirty language.

"Parkinson has never, and never will be my whore. That crazy, pug-nosed brat would not even ever be graced with the honor of shining my shoes. My house-elves are ranked higher in status than her."

Her smile faded and a disapproving frown curved her lips. It was actually much more unbecoming of her to see her frown than smile, now that he thought of it. But then again, that was because it was rarely an instance that she and her darling friends ever approached him with smiles plastered on their faces and their arms open wide. Unless it was New Year's and Weasley was drunk off his ass.

She began smiling again and his suspicions were once again aroused.

"Did he really? Ron's always denied doing that."

Damn. He really needed to stop the "thinking aloud" thing.

He huffed. "Granger, you're wasting my life here. I'm going to go find Parkinson to accomplish my mission, and if you continue to stand there, babbling away like an idiot and keeping me from my task, I shall be forced to resort to the Unforgivables."

"But you still haven't told me why."

He colored slightly. "I'd rather not, actually. It puts me a demeaning situation, something I never want to face again."

"Well, why not? It couldn't have been that horrid, was it?"

He glowered at her. "Granger, it messed with my shoes and my hair. My _hair_. If there is a lowest insult that anyone could bestow upon me, it would be dyeing my hair orange. This orange goop in my hair is almost certainly discoloring my hair as we speak."

She stared at him, confused. "She put orange dye in your hair?"

"Does this look like hair dye?"

She shrugged. "I've known Pansy to work in obscure ways."

He huffed once more. "It was a stupid _pumpkin_. A damned jack-o-lantern. Those pointless things that always catch on fire because those idiot Muggles always stick candles in them!"

She quirked an eyebrow. "A jack-o-lantern ruined your hair?"

He crossed his arms and gave her an abasing look. "Granger, it did not 'ruin' my hair. It murdered it, butchering it to pieces. It thought nothing of my glorious hair's reputation as it emptied its insides onto my head. It burned the life right out of my precious locks, and I assert to do the exact same to hers."

That annoying smile enveloped her lips once more.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that is very so."

"Well, continue on your merry way, if you must."

He stared at her for a minute, and then half-attempted a scoff. "I very well will."

He turned his heel on her and marched down the hall.

"Although Pansy likes to grouse too much for her own good, I do think it's quite unfair to let her take your vengeance when she doesn't quite deserve it this time."

He froze. Slowly, he turned around to see Hermione Granger, clad in her modest school skirt, plain sweater vest, horrifying private-school-like knee-socks and atrocious shoes, standing with her arms upon her hips and (he was waiting for that lightning to come down any second now) a pretty smirk worthy of challenging his own curving her lips.

"Excuse me?"

"Happy Halloween, Malfoy."

He continued to mouth wordlessly at her.

"I do believe I know exactly what to get you for Christmas. I was thinking an enchanted angel that followed you everywhere, coloring your precious hair a vivid red and green. What do you think?"

With that, she turned swiftly and walked around a corner, out of sight.

He stared at the spot she had been standing at not but a minute ago, trying with all his might not to let his jaw drop in an unsightly fashion. That would explain so much…the boggart, the enchantments, the whiny little voice that annoyed the living daylights out of him…

He held a trembling hand up to touch the top of his hair and grimaced once more. That was absolutely that last time he would ever insult that girl.

xXx

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed that quick little one-shot. : ) Reviews would please me to no end. Thank you!

**lazer-angel**


End file.
